


a dog named Jemma

by jdphoenix



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crack, Drabble Sequence, F/M, Post-Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 03:05:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5523083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdphoenix/pseuds/jdphoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Like your former teammate?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Grant says. “You look like a Jemma. And she is kind of a bitch, tried to kill me last time I saw her.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> These drabbles were originally posted to tumblr and I never had any intention whatsoever to make a whole series of them but people kept wanting more.
> 
> Warning: crack. So much crack. I don't even.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Safelycapricious prompted "Okay, but why does he keep barking at me?" for the first sentence meme.

"Okay, but why does he keep barking at me?"

“She, actually,” Grant says. He holds the King Charles Spaniel closer to his chest. The pressure calms her and she turns her face to his to give him a good lick.

“And we’re … keeping her?” Evie asks.

“What d’ya say, beautiful?” he asks the dog. “Should we keep you?” She rubs her head against his hand, angling for a scratch. He laughs and obliges her shortly before setting her down. “I’d say that’s a yes.”

Evie looks like she might actually cry, watching the little thing wander around the floor.

“You allergic or something?” Grant asks. Evie’s the best damn assistant he’s had since starting this gig, if keeping her means losing the dog, it’ll have to go.

“You have _carpet_ ,” Evie says like she’s telling him the world’s ending in two days.

Grant shrugs. “So we’ll tear it up, put in some nice hardwood. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, baby?” That last is directed at the dog, not Evie. (He likes her, but he’s not about to ruin her by sleeping with her.)

“You say you just _found_ her?” Evie asks, giving the dog plenty of space as they both follow Grant from his office to his bedroom. He’s still filthy from the mission and wants to change before checking in on things here. One of the perks of being the boss: once he’s done with a mission, he is _done_ with a mission. No endless hours of debriefs. No waiting to be cleared to leave. It's fantastic.

“After the lab blew, yeah,” he calls from inside his closet. Evie’s staying outside, while the dog's followed him in. “Don’t even think about it,” he says as she sniffs at his shoes. She gives him a wide-eyed, innocent stare. “Uh huh. I mean it. I’ll feed you to the ROUSes down in the basement, see if I don’t.”

She turns her nose up at the shoes and saunters deeper into the closet, like she meant to all along.

“She looks like she belongs to someone,” Evie says when he emerges. “She’s really well cared for.”

“Well she’s mine now.” The statement does what he intends it to, which is set Evie in motion.

“I’ll order food, a bed, those workmen for the carpet, a vet to give her an exam, and I’ll set up appointments with one of our canine trainers to put her through her paces.”

Grant smiles. “That’s what I was hoping you’d say. A collar and leash too. I wanna take her on runs.”

He heads back into his office, and just hears a muttered, “The head of HYDRA running around with a toy spaniel. Great.”

“Spaniels are gun dogs,” he says over his shoulder. Evie does not seem impressed. Nor does she seem to care at all about being overheard.

“Do we have a name for the tag?”

Grant takes a seat behind his desk and the dog trots right up to him. She was scared out of her wits when he found her, barking her little tail off at one of his men after the explosion. Fulton tried to kick her into a wall and Grant shot him. (They’re evil, but they’re not _that_ evil.) She’s been devoted to him ever since. Which, honestly, he only expects to last until the first time Evie has to fill her bowl in his absence.

“Bowls,” he says. “For eating out of, not for a name.”

He picks her up and sets her on his lap, scratching gently behind her ears to keep her satisfied while he stares into her face, considering.

“Jemma,” he says finally.

Evie makes a faint noise, which is saying a lot. She’s usually so unflappable. (Maybe it’s the dog?) “Like your former teammate?” she asks, her voice going a little high at the end like she might be trying not to laugh.

“Yeah,” Grant says. “You look like a Jemma. And she is kind of a bitch, tried to kill me last time I saw her.” He was actually expecting to see her today - she’d be perfect for investigating the alien relics in that lab - but no such luck. He’ll have to return the favor she tried to do him at the Arctic base some other time.

Evie hums noncommittally (probably thinks he deserved it) and heads out.

“You don’t pee on Evie’s shoes, okay?” Grant says. “We like her.”

And Jemma _does_ like Evie, once she realizes Evie’s keeping her distance from Grant. She’s territorial, Grant can respect that. She’s also curious about _everything_ , a lot like the human Jemma. She follows Grant around the facility, sniffing at everything and everyone.

Word must’ve gotten out about Fulton because every guard or specialist who she comes across immediately plants their feet. It’s kind of hilarious, especially when she smells Hart’s sausage breakfast on him and starts pawing at his knees, hoping for something to eat. The poor guy doesn’t know what to do.

Evie gets him a leash in time to take Jemma on his evening run. She’s got good stamina for a dog her size and he maybe pushes her a little too far as a result. He has to carry her back, and she’s asleep in his arms before they’re halfway home.

Maybe if Grant hadn’t spent all that time in the woods, using Buddy for warmth, he’d actually use the expensive dog bed Evie found, but as it is, it just feels wrong to make Jemma sleep on the floor, especially when he’s got this giant, empty bed of his own.

He didn’t plan on going to bed this early (the sun’s still up even) but he spent the last day and a half on the other side of the world and he’s been busy. He can call it an early night just this once. When he finishes getting ready and comes to join her, Jemma rolls right over into his side, rooting around until her head is under his arm. He scratches behind her ears a few times and goes to sleep.

 

 

\----------

 

 

He wakes up warm despite the kicked off blankets, with a weight far heavier than Jemma pressed against his side. He takes a beat, sensing his surroundings. He can smell his own body soap in the air from his shower and the bed is definitely his, so he hasn’t moved, but who the hell would think curling up in his bed was a good idea?

Whoever it is, she sighs (that’s definitely a female voice) and moves a little closer, one arm reaching across his hips. She’s got her head on his stomach like he’s her own personal pillow.

Grant opens his eyes and promptly shuts them again, _tightly_. He opens them one more time and what he sees is still _Jemma Simmons_ , stark naked and sleeping on top of him. He pinches himself (a few times) just to be sure he’s not dreaming.

She moves again, arching her neck, and he sees she’s not completely naked. She’s wearing dog Jemma’s collar.

It doesn’t take a genius - or even someone with half as much experience with weird alien crap as Grant has - to put two and two together. Simmons got turned into a freaking _dog_. A dog who followed him around like he was her world and licked his face and slept in his arms. No wonder he thought she looked like Simmons.

He is _never_ letting her live this down.

Curious, he reaches out and scratches in her hair the same way he did behind her floppy ears. Her mouth curls into a smile and she twists onto her back.

He has to bite his lip to keep from laughing outright.

He waits, deciding he’d rather find out how long it takes her to figure out something’s wrong than wake her up himself. She doesn’t, though. She sleeps the whole night through and, when morning comes, he blinks and finds himself sharing a bed with a dog again.

When she wakes up, she’s no less affectionate than she was the day before. 

“We,” he says, scratching her in just the right spot under her leg that has her eyes drifting shut and her foot tapping the floor, “are gonna have so much fun with this.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sapphireglyphs prompted 24 hours later for the puppy!Jemma drabble.

“Morning, beautiful.”

Jemma feels that screaming is a good response when she wakes up naked in bed with _Grant Ward_. After that, she starts looking for a weapon.

Ward, distressingly, goes right on lounging in the bed.

“What did you do to me?” she demands as she tears his drawers open. How are there no weapons in Ward’s room? And she’s nearly certain that’s where she is. Ward dressed only in his boxers is a pretty good indicator, and the mix of dark furniture and stainless steel accents just scream evil lair. “Ow!” she yells as she nearly falls to the floor. She kicks at the … the plush _octopus_ that tripped her.

For half a second she wonders if Ward sleeps with a stuffed animal but then she notices the tennis balls and the pair of bowls next to the dresser. She stiffens, wondering when whatever monster of a dog Ward keeps is going to come running at her.

“ _What_ is going on?” she asks.

He tips his head to one side atop his laced hands. (He’s enjoying this entirely too much.) “Why are you standing like that?”

“I don’t want your mutt to attack me.”

Ward laughs. Loudly. When it looks like he might stop, he just laughs harder until he’s sitting up, wiping tears from his eyes. “Oh, gosh. I did not think this could get more fun. I was wrong.” At her incredulous expression, he lifts his chin to tap at his throat.

She feels her own neck. Horror overcomes her fear of the missing dog and she races to the adjoining bathroom to look in the mirror. She’s wearing a _dog collar._

“One of those alien artifacts turned you into a dog,” Ward calls, sounding pleased. “I’m not sure if it’s always dogs or if it just turns you into whatever animal you’re most like.”

She rolls her eyes at the implied insult. She has more important things to worry about.

“And you just decided to kidnap me?” she asks, stepping back into the room. She hurls the collar at him - he catches it out of the air easily - and gestures to the toys littering the floor. She tries not to think about playing with them. (She thinks she can remember playing with them. With _him_.) “How long have I been here?”

“I _adopted_ you,” he says patiently. “And you’ve been here a little less than two days.”

She supposes she should be grateful he didn’t kill her while she was defenseless. The collar had “Jemma” inscribed on it, so he must have known who she was when he took her in. It’s just like Ward to derive some sick joy from messing with her like this.

“Thank you,” she says through gritted teeth, “for looking after me while my condition persisted. But now I would like some clothes and enough bus fare to get me back to the Playground.”

He hisses in a breath. “I hate to tell you this, but your condition is an ongoing thing. You changed back last night too.”

Her stomach drops. “ _What?_ ”

He explains. And then again two more times when she demands it, all without protest. Somehow she makes it back to the bed - a good thing, because her legs feel weak and rubbery. She thinks he might have forced her to sit but her head’s spinning too rapidly for her to remember silly little details like that. It’s too full with half-formed memories eager to make themselves known.

“I’ll need a lab,” she says finally. “And all the research you have on whatever was in that base.”

He sighs, his expression implying that won’t be happening. 

“ _Don’t_ ,” she says sharply. “I will not spend the rest of my life as a _dog_.”

“Half your life,” Ward corrects quickly.

She seethes. She could just _kill_ him - and would try if he weren’t more than a match for her physically. That disparity between them doesn’t explain why her anger with him hasn’t spurred her to move. He’s been rubbing her back soothingly while he explained her condition, and some small, unerringly logical part of her brain feels the need to point out that it’s very much like he’s _petting_ her.

“You can have your lab,” he says, smiling. “But it’s not gonna do you much good now.”

She sets aside the question of why he’d help her at all for the more pressing one. “Why not?”

He nods past her and she turns to see the floor to ceiling windows that dominate one wall. There’s nothing to see except some mountains silhouetted to the left and the shadow of another tower a block or two away.

“There’s gotta be some reason why you change, right? You were human when I woke up in the middle of the night yesterday and turned into a dog when morning came. And then tonight, you changed exactly at sunset.”

The sky outside is rapidly lightening. In a moment she expects to see the first rays of the sun rise over the mountains.

“Oh,” she says glumly. It’s likely too much to hope that the pattern won’t repeat but at least now she knows and can tackle the problem. Tonight she’ll be able to work, so long as she’s awake.

“You!” she yells, rounding on him. “If I’ve been human all night, why did you let me go on sleeping?”

He smiles and reaches to, she thinks, tuck her hair behind her ear. Instead, he scratches her there in a way that is disturbingly pleasurable. “You’re just so _cute_. How could I disturb you?”

Jemma opens her mouth to give him a piece of her mind, and barks.

Ward smiles down at her, chuckling softly. She likes when he’s happy. Her tail stirs.

He holds something shiny and interesting in his hands. She tries to sniff at it - it smells like her! - but he makes her look up so he can fasten it around her neck. “That’s my good girl. Let’s get some breakfast.”

She leaps off the bed after him, detouring along the way to grab her Octi and give it a good, firm shake, just to remind it who’s boss.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shineyma prompted biospecialist + "nothing is that fluffy and not evil."

“It’s all set,” Markham says as he holds open the door of the SUV. “Nguyen is on the building to the east and reports that one of Coulson’s people is on the one to the west.”

“Coulson’s here already?” Grant asks.

“Yes, sir. Two guards, just like we agreed.” He hesitates, then says, “I don’t like sacrificing one of ours just so you can bring Peters.”

Grant glances over his shoulder at Evie, who’s climbing out of the SUV behind him. “You wanna back out?” he asks her.

She gives him a hard look that clearly says she didn’t spend the last hour and a half in the back of the stupid van just to back out now. Grant smiles at Markham, who sighs longsufferingly.

Instead of giving in at this point, his gaze drops. “Do you have to bring her too?” he asks.

Grant shifts Jemma a little higher in his arms. She lets out a short whine as she resettles. She got tired of the ride after the first thirty minutes and has been dozing ever since. “Absolutely,” Grant says.

Markham’s eyes drift over his shoulder. Grant chooses to ignore the look he exchanges with Evie. Their opinions on his choices don’t matter so long as they go along with him.

He leads the way into the building. It’s an old, abandoned restaurant in a dilapidated part of town. The interior’s been completely torn out, leaving only a large, open room. A table’s been set up in the middle, with Coulson already sitting at it. Skye and Morse are stationed behind him.

“Oh. My. God.” From the looks of it, everyone shares Skye’s opinion of Grant’s companion.

He lets it slide, giving a nod to the man Markham left inside to watch for a double-cross. Alvarez quickly slips out as Grant takes his waiting chair. Markham and Evie take positions behind him.

Skye is still looking at him - at _Jemma_ , more accurately - wide-eyed. “ _Seriously?_ You’re just full-on embracing the supervillain motif now?”

Grant smiles blithely at her and scratches Jemma behind the ears. She’s perked up now that they’re someplace new and is straining to get down. Grant lets her go.

“Really?” Coulson asks as Jemma sniffs around his feet. He shakes his head and shifts in his seat, setting to the topic of the day.

They’re discussing a potential deal. Coulson is desperate to get in good with the Inhumans and is angling to get his hands on a Kree artifact to hand over to them. Grant’s not letting go of the thing so easily though. He’s gonna make Coulson pay through the nose.

That’s part of why he brought Jemma along, actually. She doesn’t know it but thanks to her habit of talking while she works, she’s given Grant a good idea of what Coulson’s got brewing that he wants to get his hands on. After all that help, it’d be cruel to leave her alone in the apartment all day. 

“Ew!” Skye yells, cutting into the discussion. (Coulson’s face when Grant asked for the hurricane bombs by name was priceless and Grant’s kind of sorry to see it end so soon thanks to her outburst.) “Get away!”

Skye shuffles back, away from Jemma, and lifts her leg like she’s considering kicking her out of her space. Behind Grant, Markham’s hand goes for his gun.

“Oh, calm down,” Morse says, her eyes fixed on Markham. She’s got her hand on her own gun. “It’s just a stupid dog.”

“It’s _Ward’s_ dog. It’s probably evil.”

“Dogs can’t be evil,” Coulson says calmly. “Their owners on the other hand…”

“ _Nothing_ is that fluffy and not evil,” Skye mutters. Jemma’s given up on her and goes to investigate Morse.

“Oh, that’s not true,” Morse says, dropping into a crouch and holding her hand out. “You’re a beautiful girl, aren’t you? You know who’d love her?”

“No!” Skye says eagerly. “He’s a dog person?”

“ _Loves_ King Charles Spaniels, too. He’d go crazy over her if he was-”

“Jemma!” Grant snaps. Watching Skye squirm is one thing, but Grant didn’t bring Jemma along so she could get chummy with Morse. She trots obediently back to him, going up on her back legs to reach his lap. He scratches her behind the ear, enjoying the horrified looks that follow his order. “Something wrong?” he asks innocently.

“You named your dog after _Simmons_?” Morse asks.

“Oh my God,” Skye says again, more disgusted this time. “Do you have dog versions of all of us? Is this some weird power thing?” She gasps, her eyes flying to Evie, who’s tapping Grant’s shoulder with a dog treat. “Does he abuse the dogs?”

Grant takes the treat and slips it to Jemma.

“No,” Evie says when he doesn’t answer. “And he only has the one. Thank God,” she adds, and Grant can _hear_ her eyes rolling.

“She looks like Simmons,” Grant says honestly. “Is she here? Bring her on in, we’ll put them next to each other and you’ll agree; I really kind of _had_ to name her Jemma.”

Coulson’s expression grows steadily darker as Grant speaks. Grant channels the smile he’s hiding into scratching Jemma.

“I’m sure you’re a very proud parent,” Coulson says, “but we’re not here to talk about your _pet_.”

“Of course,” Grant says. He abandons petting her and gives the discussion his full attention. He’s learned what he wanted to from this meeting. Coulson and the team don’t know what happened to Jemma but they probably think she’s dead. The expressions on their faces were a lot like what his question about Trip’s absence got him during their little team-up earlier this year.

That works for him. If they’re not hunting for her, there’s little risk of them finding her at his headquarters one night - not unless they’re looking in on him for other reasons, which is always a possibility. It’ll also make it a lot harder for her to get back to them if she ever manages to escape.

She sniffs around a little more, probably trying to find some mice or rats in the corners, before eventually wandering beneath his chair and collapsing with a huff. The move earns her an eyebrow twitch from Coulson and two disturbed looks from Skye and Morse. _How_ , their expressions say, _can someone so evil have a dog so_ cute _?_

Grant is _so_ glad he brought her.

 

 

\----------

 

 

Later that night, Grant gets reason to be glad all over again.

Jemma’s in the middle of analyzing her latest blood samples, the ones from just before and after both of her transformations today. (Her dedicated lab assistant is the one who has to draw them from her while she’s a dog. The way he quakes in terror under Grant’s gaze as he takes the samples is only _slightly_ less funny than watching Jemma try not to instinctively hate him when she’s human.) 

Grant doesn’t know much about the sciency stuff, so he doesn’t realize Jemma’s gone still and isn’t just staring for a really long time, until she says, “You _bastard_.”

He grins, knowing from experience that some canine memory of the day has finally slotted into place. “I thought you’d want to see your old friends,” he says innocently.

She lifts her eyes from the microscope to fix him with a glare that is so much like her furious dog expression, he can’t help but smile.

She throws the two thousand dollar microscope at his head.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's a couple of super quick drabbles too short for their own chapters. The first was written because an anon asked for this 'verse for my existing projects meme and I hadn't worked on the next installment yet, so I had to come up with something. And the second was written in response to a first sentence prompt from shineyma.

Markham is one of the best - has to be to get clearance for Grant’s office - but even _his_ composure breaks a little when he glances towards the familiar _rat-tat-tat_  coming from the hall to the penthouse. He looks quickly away, his jaw hardening and his eyes shutting like he’s trying to physically hold back his own reaction. Evie just _has_ to look after that and isn’t nearly so strong-willed. A faint snort escapes her before turning into a cough.

Once she’s composed, she brings Grant those files. “You’re evil,” she says dryly.

“She likes it!” Grant says defensively. He pushes out from his desk and Jemma, hearing the sound of the wheels, comes around to greet him, her tail wagging. “Look at her show off! Don’t you love your little lab coat?”

She barks happily and bounds into Grant’s lap. He reaches under the coat to give her a good scratch and ignores whatever look Markham and Evie are exchanging. Jemma loves her lab coat, and if seeing the pictures later will piss Simmons off, that’s just icing.

 

 

 

 

\----------

 

 

 

 

"This is not even a little bit my fault."

“Really?” Grant asks, disbelieving. He takes another look around his bedroom. It _looks_  like his bedroom, only … like it’s been covered in snow. Thick, fluffy pieces of snow interspersed with the olive green of his comforter. Former comforter. It’s pretty dead now. “Are you implying SHIELD broke in just to tear my bed to pieces?”

“ _No_ ,” Simmons replies, buttoning up her shirt. (Along with the comforter, all of his clothes from the hamper have been shredded or defiled. It hasn’t escaped his notice that all of _hers_ survived.) “But if you would stop hindering my progress on finding a cure, you wouldn’t have to deal with your dog missing you when you go out murdering for days on end.”

He puts out an arm, stopping her from heading down the hall. “So you missed me.”

She gives him a long look. “The sad, pathetic, animal part of my brain that knows you as its sole caretaker missed you.” She tips her head to one side, a slight smile pulling at her lips. He wonders if she realizes how tempting it is. “Enough to pee in all your shoes. I think I’m beginning to like my bitch-half.” She ducks under his arm easily and he lets her. It’s not like he doesn’t know where she’s going.

He sets his hands on his hips as he takes in the destruction one little puppy wrought in only a few hours. Much less surprising since that puppy has Simmons’ brain.

“You missed me!” he calls when he hears the outer door open.

She slams it in response and he allows himself a moment to pout. Two days trapped in a cave and he didn’t even make it home until after the sun set. Come morning, he’d just better get an excited doggy greeting - jumping, kisses, barking that sounds like crying, the whole thing - or he’s gonna be _very_ disappointed.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for wssummer's "beast" theme.

Jemma’s gotten used to waking up naked the past few weeks and, frankly, prefers it to the alternative. (She doesn’t want to even _imagine_ Ward dressing her.) But waking up naked on a concrete floor is definitely new.

Gingerly, she lifts herself onto her hands and knees, a sharp pain in her side making itself known as she does so. Her jaw hurts too and she tastes iron.

“What. The. Hell.”

That is _not_ Ward’s voice, nor is it the voice of any of his most trusted agents. (And how sad is it that Jemma’s life has reached a point where she knows Ward’s people so well?) She turns to look and realizes she’s in the middle of some sort of warehouse, chained by her collar to a car door. The men slowly emerging from the brightly lit area hidden behind a few more parked cars are all staring at her in no small amount of shock. Not a single one of them is wearing a HYDRA insignia. Or a SHIELD one. That … probably should have been her first thought.

She sits and pulls her knees to her chest for some measure of modesty. (By necessity, she’s become more comfortable in nothing but her own skin lately but that doesn’t mean she’ll be giving these disreputable characters a show.)

“And who are you?” she demands archly.

One of the men - the one dressed most nicely of the bunch - steps closer, examining the collar that’s put on full display when she lifts her chin to look down her nose at them all. Behind him, a man points with his bandaged right hand. “She’s the fucking dog!”

She scowls at him. 

The well-dressed man catches her chin and wipes at something that’s half-dried on her cheek. Blood.

“It is,” he says almost to himself.

Jemma twists away. “ _Who are you?_ ” she asks again.

The man lowers to his haunches so he’s more on her level. “Think of us as contractors, working for some very powerful people your- uh, _master_ has pissed off.”

She narrows her eyes at the word “master,” but lets it pass. Better to pick her battles. “SHIELD?” she asks, daring to hope. The round of laughter that gets her ends it quickly.

“No. Just someone looking to make a point.” He reaches out to touch her hair. “We were sent to grab Ward’s dog, didn’t know we were actually getting his bitch.”

She kicks out at him with both legs. She’s fully cognizant that that word applies to her these days but that doesn’t mean she appreciates it as an insult. He stumbles back, rising to his feet and still smiling. 

“Keep an eye on her,” he orders. “I have to call our buyer. Kidnapping costs way more than dognapping.”

He grabs the injured man as he passes him by, dragging him along behind. Jemma cringes under his furious gaze. She has a good idea where the blood in her mouth came from.

 

 

\----------

 

 

Grant waves off the poor medic trying to see to his injuries. He gets why the guy is so worried about getting it right - if Grant passes out ten minutes after leaving, this guy is definitely dying - but that doesn’t stop him from getting dressed. Evie opens the door, giving the medic an excuse to escape, possibly the chance to run for the border.

“We’ve got teams searching for the men who attacked you,” Markham reports once the three of them are alone. “We know they’re still in the city, it’s only a matter of time before we find them.”

“I want them alive,” Grant says while he shakes out his shirt.

Markham just nods. The order is a given, whether it’ll be followed depends on how hard it is to take these guys down. Markham will do his best, Grant knows. 

“Anything else?” He glances to Evie in the corner. “I’ve been out for what? Two hours? And that’s all you’ve got for me?”

Markham’s head half-turns and Evie’s eyes dart in his direction. Grant knows the two of them keep things from him - like that bet the lab techs were running last month and the fact that they’re hopelessly in love with each other - but he doesn’t appreciate them keeping _important_ things to themselves.

“ _What_ ,” he snaps.

Markham sighs. “We don’t think the attack failed.”

Grant holds his arms wide. “I’m alive.”

“Yes,” Evie says carefully, “but I’m afraid Jemma has yet to be recovered.”

Grant goes cold. “What did you say?”

Markham holds up a hand. “We combed the park, had people she knows calling her name, no response. We’ve notified every shelter in town to call us if they get in a-”

“It’s night!” Grant roars, gesturing to the dark window. “She’s _human_ at night!”

“Which is why we’ve also got our men on the local police force keeping an ear out for news of a naked woman on the streets,” Evie says.

The thought of Jemma, alone and scared on the streets, is nothing to the image of _Simmons_ , alone and exposed. As a dog, she’s vulnerable to the elements, as a woman, she’s more vulnerable to other humans.

He must move - probably for the door - or maybe it’s just his expression that does it. Either way, he knows he’s losing control when Markham puts himself between him and Evie. Grant could move past him, could probably order him out of the way, but that Markham’s made the move to block him at all says a lot. 

He forces a deep breath and turns to the window. His reflection is only half-there but it definitely looks bad. “You said you thought they succeeded in their objective.”

“Yeah,” Markham says. “You’ve been making a point of carting her around everywhere lately, and it’s not like you’ve got a girlfriend. Anyone wanted to hurt you, their best bet is your dog.”

“Damn,” he sighs. He just had to go showing off to Coulson, didn’t he? He pinches the bridge of his nose. “All right. Simmons is smart. If she’s running around out there, she’ll find a way to contact SHIELD. If they’ve got her … she’ll probably find a way to do the same. So tell Turner to keep an eye on the Playground and alert us to any activity.”

“Sir,” Markham says by way of good-bye. It takes a few seconds for the door to open behind Grant, which he figures is because Markham and Evie are communicating silently about his emotional state. Once he’s gone, Grant gives it a few seconds before turning with a smile. He leans against the window ledge and crosses his arms over his chest in a forced display of ease.

“Worst case scenario,” he says with a half-shrug, “I can always get a new dog.” Evie’s expression is so warmly pitying that he can’t let it go, so he quickly follows that up with, “Big one this time, just like you wanted.”

That wipes the pity right off her face. “Ugh,” she says and leaves. 

He follows slowly, allowing himself a few seconds of self-pity to worry. 

They’ll find her - and when they do, he’s going to kill every single person involved in taking her from him.

 


	6. Chapter 6

“Whoa,” Skye says. She’s watching the feed from the DWARFs over Fitz’s shoulder. He turns his head, but doesn’t take his eyes off the screens. Understandable, since he’s busy keeping the little guys out of sight while they spy on the warehouse.

The others though, don’t react at all. They’re too busy arguing about Bobbi’s driving skills. (Skye is _so_ driving them home.)

She says again, “ _Whoa_.”

“Something wrong?” Bobbi asks, more to pointedly ignore Hunter than to really answer. Skye’ll take it though.

“Look at this,” she says, pointing to Sleepy’s feed. “That’s Jason Hicks. And over here?” She points to Doc. “Ortilla. And this one?”

“Markham,” Bobbi says.

“Ward’s right-hand man,” Hunter says, crouching down to get a better look. “And there’s the bastard himself, looking, appropriate enough, angry as all hell.”

Fitz chuckles. “Grumpy,” he says to Skye’s frown.

She laughs too, but not for long. “That’s Ward and all his top people. What are we getting into here?”

That’s what they’re here to figure out. A cell phone in that building called Coulson’s private number. _Twice_.

“Well they’re not ringing the doorbell,” Fitz says. “They’re getting ready to raid the place.”

“But what for?” Bobbi asks, bending over his shoulder.

“Maybe we should find out,” Hunter says.

It’s a bad idea. A _really_ bad idea. Going in there before the DWARFs have really scoped things out is bad enough, but doing it just to beat Ward to the punch? Super bad. They should radio the Playground, call for reinforcements, and monitor the situation as it progresses.

Or they could piss Ward off.

 

 

\----------

 

 

“This was a bad idea,” Skye says.

“Are you hurt?” Fitz asks from the safety of the van.

“No.” She shoots another of the men they found in this place. She doesn’t even know who they are or who they work for, but their shoot-first-questions-later attitude mitigates any guilt she’d feel for icing so many of them. At least she’s not outright killing them like Ward’s people are? “Just super annoyed. Do we have any idea what’s so important about this place yet?” She’s gonna be mad if this is some territorial thing and they’re really helping Ward clear out the competition.

“Not yet,” Bobbi reports. “We’re at the north end. You?”

“West. And there’s nothing here except stolen cars. You think they stole Ward’s version of Lola? You think Ward _has_ his own version of Lola?” she adds with a cringe. He’s such a creep, he totally would.

A blow to the head sends her to the floor and knocks her earpiece out so she never gets to hear what the others think of that. She gets herself back up, knocking the guy’s feet out from under him along the way, and a kick to his head does as well as an ICER.

She needs some cover. She sends a massive vibration through the air, enough to push one of the cars sideways into the front end of another car so they make a nice little V she can hide behind.

“Skye!”

Her first thought is that she’s hallucinating. Finding one of her best friends in the midst of a firefight, wearing nothing but an over-sized flannel shirt is crazy - but finding  _Simmons_? She's supposed to be  _dead_.

All Skye's doubt disappears as her arms are fill up with Simmons and the two of them are laughing and crying and Skye’s not even sure _why_ or _how_ , she just knows everything is wonderful.

“You’re alive!” she says, pushing Simmons back so she can look at her again. Yep, definitely nothing but the flannel. “Do I want to know?” she asks, as much over Simmons’ fashion choices as _how the hell she’s alive_.

“Probably not.” She sounds so genuinely sad that Skye’s overwhelmed with the urge to both hug her and kill _everyone_. She settles for the hugging though, mostly because Simmons is already leaning in for another.

“Oh, fuck.” It’s that Hicks asshole. Skye’s already got Simmons maneuvered half-behind her when she hears the sigh. Not a shriek of fear or a sigh like she’s annoyed at the interruption. No, this is a _familiar_ sigh.

“Really, Jason?” she asks. “Can’t you just pretend you didn’t see me?”

That easy smile - the same one that got the senator’s secretary to give HYDRA all the intel on that breakfast last month - is directed Simmons’ way. “Much as I’d like to make you happy, Jem, I’d rather make the boss man happy.”

“ _‘Jem’?_ ” Skye demands. HYDRA agents are _not_ allowed to call Simmons by cutesy nicknames. “What is going on?” She turns to Simmons, but keeps a hand up, ready to knock Hicks on his ass if he makes a move. “Simmons, did Ward kidnap you?” Her gut twists. If Ward’s had Simmons all these months and they’ve just been assuming she was dead … He could’ve been doing _anything_ to her.

Simmons’ mouth twists in this painful sort of way. “Well … sort of? He kind of … rescued me.”

Hicks stifles a laugh. “Rescue,” he mutters. Apparently that’s funny for some reason.

“Shut. Up,” Skye snaps. The distraction is good though, it gives her brain the detour it needs for a few things to click into place. “ _You’re_ why HYDRA’s here. You’re who called Coulson!”

“Aw, Jemma,” Hicks says, like he’s really disappointed in her. “Do you have any idea how pissed he’s gonna be?”

She rolls her eyes and plucks a phone from the front pocket of her shirt. “The man who gave me the shirt either forgot about his phone or figured I wouldn’t be able to break past the lock screen.”

“That’s our Simmons,” Skye says, putting a little more emphasis than is strictly necessary on the word “our.” Simmons is _SHIELD’s_ , not HYDRA’s. “Don’t worry, we’re gonna-”

A chime goes off, coming from Hicks’ direction. He smiles apologetically. “Just a timer, so we all know when the game plan changes.”

“Game plan?”

“Oh no,” Simmons moans. “You don’t mean…?”

“Yeah. The situation changes a little at sunrise. Which is-” Hicks’ eyes crinkle in silent laughter- “right now.”

Skye shakes her head. This asshole isn’t gonna give her anything. “Simmons, do you know what-”

Simmons is gone. Her shirt’s there, on the floor, and something’s moving inside it. Skye jumps back as one corner of it gets thrown up and a little head pops out. A _dog’s_ head.

“No way.”

“Yep,” Hicks says. “Weirdest damn thing.”

Skye’s brain skips back two weeks to Coulson’s powwow with Ward, who brought his _dog_. “Oh my God. Simmons!” She almost kicked Jemma! She called her evil! And she was _right there_! They could’ve saved her if they’d known and Ward just sat there _smiling_!

Simmons cocks her head to one side. Her ears draw back in tiny puppy worry. As if Skye needed reason to feel worse.

“ _Jem-ma!_ ” Ward bellows from some distant corner of the warehouse.

Simmons jumps to her feet- paws. Whatever.

“No!” Skye yells and lunges, trying to catch her without crushing her. Simmons doesn’t even notice, she just darts off under one of the cars.

“I’m gonna kill him,” Skye mutters as she pulls herself to her feet.

“Not today, you’re not,” Hicks says. Pain screams through the back of her skull and stars erupt across her vision, only to be quickly swallowed up by blackness.

When she wakes up on the floor of the Quinjet they flew out here, the others are laughing over Ward’s weird attachment to his dog and the lengths he’ll go to get her back.

 


	7. Chapter 7

While this whole incident has only increased Jemma’s desire to cure herself and escape from Ward, she doesn’t go near her lab. It’s not a good idea, the mood she’s in - and besides, she’s too easily distracted there. Instead, she calmly accepts the clothes Evie has laid out for her, as well as her sentiment of relief that Jemma’s been recovered safely, and then asks where Ward is.

She can remember bits and pieces from the last few hours. After so many weeks, she has no trouble ignoring the parts that once would have been embarrassing and focusing instead on being left alone in the apartment for much of the day. She was devastated with only Evie to tend her and it’s easy, now that she’s human, to lump that feeling together with her fury.

If Evie thinks the question is surprising - it’s certainly not one Jemma’s bothered with before - she doesn’t show it. “He’s working on a project. I’m sure he’ll be back before dawn, if you need to-”

“I didn’t ask what he was doing,” Jemma says. It’s so much sharper than she’d usually speak - even to a woman who is complicit in holding her against her will - and she blames that on Ward as well. He’s a terrible influence. “I want to know where he is. I want to see him. Now.”

Evie’s hackles rise, but she nods and turns on her heel. Presumably, to hunt Ward down. Once she’s gone, Jemma allows herself to sit stiffly on the edge of the bed, her fists curled in the mattress.

She was _so close_ , but then the bloody sunrise ruined it all. And of course Ward was waiting for that, for the moment she’d come when he called.

She kicks at Octi on the floor, sending it turning end over tentacles into the corner.

If nothing else, now Skye knows she’s alive - and that she’s been trapped here by her condition. She’ll inform the others and they will begin working on plans for her rescue. How successful those will be, Jemma can only imagine. She’s in the heart of HYDRA and after her little kidnapping (kidnapped from her kidnappers! Who else can say that?), Markham will already have increased security. 

It doesn’t matter, she tells herself as she paces the floor. She _will_ find a cure, she _will_ escape, and Ward _will_ pay for what he’s done. These are not simply goals, these are absolutes. They will come to pass.

Though perhaps not in exactly that order.

The door opens and the sight of Ward stalking across the floor is enough to have her hand itching to give him the slap that is the least of what he deserves. It doesn’t daunt her to see the blood on his hands or the slightly wild gleam in his eyes. She knows exactly how dangerous he is and will not be deterred.

Unfortunately, Ward has far more training than she has and easily bats her hand away before it comes anywhere near his face. He doesn’t stop, however, and instead keeps coming until there is no space between them at all. His lips are on hers, warm and rough and insistent. Somehow, without her permission, her head has tipped back and her neck is smarting slightly from the sharp angle, but he kneads away the hurts with a hand that is surely leaving blood in her hair. His other hand is wrapped around the wrist he caught, rubbing gentle circles that send sparks shooting straight through her. 

Whatever her feelings might be about that sensation, she can’t hate him for holding onto her arm, otherwise she’d have _two_ hands fisted in the front of his shirt when he finally pulls away. The one is enough to hold her upright - though just barely - and both would be endlessly embarrassing.

“I have to go,” he says, his voice low. His thumb trails along her jaw to pull at her swollen lip. “I’m teaching some respect to the men who took you. It could take a while.” 

A chill of horror sweeps through her - they were terrible men, no doubt, but no one deserves what Ward must be doing to them. The feeling is chased immediately away by a flood of warmth as he drops another, quicker kiss to her lips. His hand slips down to squeeze hers once, and then he’s gone.

Again, she falls onto the edge of the bed. This time her muscles are weak, her arms and legs limp. Her nerves are alive though, standing on the edge of something and eager to take the leap.

“Oh dear,” she breathes.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thestarfishdancer prompted "Okay, that is not just eggnog" for the first sentence meme.
> 
> Posted for my 25 days of fic.

"That is _not_ just eggnog," Jemma says, pushing the glass away and pulling a face. Much as she appreciates a little buzz - it does do wonders to take the edge off her current situation - that is incredibly strong and she'd rather not be a hungover dog come morning.

Grant laughs and pulls her off her stool. She lands on her toes, against his chest. She hadn't realized before just how cold the lab had gotten - or perhaps he's simply exceptionally warm.

"I'm working," she reminds him.

"Your assistant's gone home. _Everyone's_ gone home."

Jemma tips her head to look beyond him. The door is open and she can see the shoe of one of the guards he left outside. 

"All right, not everyone," he says, loosening his hold just enough that she can sink to her heels. "But it's Christmas Eve." His eyes twinkle. "If you don't come to bed soon, Santa won't visit."

She laughs at the invitation. He's made a habit of them, each more ridiculous than the last, in the weeks since he kissed her - since _she_ kissed _him_. She still can't say for certain why she did it. Stockholm syndrome is high on her list, as is simple insanity born of spending half her time as a canine. All she can say for certain is that at the moment it seemed like a good idea, something like an experiment, to see if kissing him would affect her the same way a second time.

It did.

And continues to do so every time they've kissed since.

But sex has remained firmly off the table - no matter how many times he tries to put it back on.

"All I want," she says pertly, "is to go _home_."

"And leave Octi?" Grant asks with mock-sincerity.

She pushes him and steps back to her workstation. "Thank you for the drink, now leave me be. I have work to do."

His hand rests a scant inch from hers on the table. "Do you? You've been working on this non-stop for months. Is working yourself sick on Christmas really gonna make that much of a difference?"

Her chest tightens and she holds herself carefully still. He steps closer, sliding a hand gently around her back.

"Jem? Let yourself relax a little. Just today."

"Tonight," she says softly.

"What was that?"

She hangs her head. "Tonight. I can relax _tonight_ if I choose, but I have no control over what happens in the daytime."

She needs to keep working to find a cure, but Grant's right. It's been months and her research is at a standstill. All she's doing now is going over the same tests she's done a dozen times before. And suddenly, it has her feeling deeply tired. She leans into him and he catches her readily.

"Oh, sweetheart."

It's no trouble at all to return to the penthouse, as it's attached to her lab, and in short order he's instructed his guards that they're not to be disturbed and to call Markham and Evie (who will surely _love_ the interruption) for anything lower than a level 5 threat.

She doesn't cry, but she feels like she has. She feels empty and spent. Grant seems to realize as much and leaves her be. He sits her on the end of the bed and removes her shoes, tugging at laces and cursing under his breath when they prove too tight for his blunt nails. She smiles at his struggles and at the triumphant little noise he makes when he finally succeeds. He's gentle pulling the shoes off her feet and then stands to set them on the shelf in the closet where she won't be able to gnaw on them come morning - not that she's ever damaged any of her own clothing.

When he comes back, she's come to a hasty decision, one she knows is likely to be even worse than the one to kiss him.

"You'll have to get up to take the jeans off," he says, "or just roll onto your back, but that'd be-"

She stands. The bed is on a low platform and the step is high enough that she's just about level with him, making the next part all the easier. She kisses him, tugging him close and letting his warmth suffuse all the raw and hollow places inside her. Once she feels more steady, she breaks the kiss to rest her forehead against his.

"I want to."

"What?" he asks.

"I want to sleep with you," she says, fingering the collar of his shirt. She can feel his heartbeat pick up and grins to herself.

"Jemma, are you-"

She shakes her head against his. "No. But I want to forget how completely horrible everything is, just for Christmas, and as I can't drink without consequences…"

His hands wrap around her upper-arms and she can feel him pulling away before he puts any distance at all between them.

She wraps her fingers around the point of his collar. "No. Don't. Don't try to be honorable, it doesn't become you. I want this and I want _you_ \- I do. And maybe tomorrow I'll remember all the perfectly good reasons I should hate you, but right now I would very much like to enjoy loving you." She presses a brief kiss to the hard line of his mouth and whispers, "And I think we both know this is what you really want for Christmas."

He makes a sound very much like a growl and his hands tighten delightfully. "If you ever want to stop, you just say-"

"Shut up," she says, eager to get things on with, and kisses him properly again.

 

 

\----------

 

 

"Jemma," Grant says.

She whimpers and curls more closely into him. The penthouse is always warm, but he's warmer and her sleep was _so_ pleasant. She'd like to return to it.

Grant, the bastard, doesn't seem to want to let her. And after she gave him such excellent orgasms too! He lets her stay close as she likes, but he jostles her with a knee. " _Jemma_."

She tips her chin up to rest on his shoulder, facing him but keeping her eyes firmly shut against the light. She will be going back to sleep _immediately_  after this.

"You need to open your eyes."

She whines and shakes her head into his chest.

"I promise you'll like this."

She huffs and opens her eyes. "What."

He angles his head behind him.

"Did elves come in the night?" she mutters, pushing herself up on one arm to see whatever he's on about. If it's dog toys, she might just kill him.

It's a good thing he's there because he has to catch her when her arm gives out. A moment later she's scrambling over him and off the bed, running barefoot across the chilly floor to the window. Behind her, Grant is laughing gleefully at her antics. Jemma doesn't care about him or her nakedness or how cold her toes are. She has _toes_.

The sun is shining and she has toes and hands and is wonderfully, completely human. She presses her palms to the window, entranced by the sunlight glinting off the neighboring skyscrapers. "How?" she breathes.

"I don't know," Grant says honestly. He comes up behind her and slips his arms around her stomach. She melts into him readily but keeps her focus on the sunlight. He kisses her in that delicious spot beneath her ear. "Merry Christmas."

 


End file.
